In the summer of 1980, I graduated from school, entered the institute, watched the Olympics a little and accidentally got to the funeral of Vysotsky. And after all this, I really wanted to go to the auto school and get the rights. I didn’t have the money for training and gasoline, I was in school for a couple of years and I went to the military department. According to rumors that went on in our yard, if you approached the praporst Budunz, who was engaged in the upbringing and preparation of the future staff, it was quite possible to get to school.
Dosaaf from the Military Committee.
- I wish you goodbye, Comrade Fyodor Matveevich, - I pretended to be a fool.
standing humbly, in the cabinet of the praporchnik, - I want to go to the army, but in years not
Let me go, let me go, if so?
- In the desantry heaven, or in the marine infantry you want, - sarcastically
The man stumbled, weighed me with a glance and was not surprised.
My stupid stupidity.
“Neee,” I pulled a song prepared in advance, “which I had not seen there,
In the Marine Corps? I want to be a military driver and drive a car.
The Budunets, according to the same rumors before the military committee served in the autobate and serving precisely for his military status, bloomed like a rose of May and ordered to sit down.
In an hour we discussed with him all the pleasures of the army-driving being, and on September 1, I began to study at once in two places: in the institute and in the auto school, alternately walking something.
Finally, a coveted red booklet with category "C" and without the inscription "without the right to work by hiring" lay at my pocket. It was time to notify the military committee that I had swallowed them, and at the same time to send a certificate of admission to the institute.
The man who met me with a wide smile, when he saw the certificate, spoke for fifteen minutes. The best word he sent to me was so obscene that to repeat it I - a builder with many years of experience will not take publicly now. After getting rid of it, the buffalo took my thin personal affair out of the closet. He opened, scratched a little thought, and a disgusting smile appeared on his face.
- So you are also an athlete, he said mysteriously, intermittently breathing afterwards.
crying, - KMS, that is, yes, you will now have the honor of the military commission, as
to defend for the rest of his life, to defend the devil, in all competitions.
Will you be? He asked affirmatively, looking at me with his eyes fixed.
shooting team, and if you do not, we will call you on the agenda anyway.
“Don’t have an agenda, comrade, I felt my fault.
In front of the state, we stand the honor wherever you say.
- After tomorrow on Friday we have an inter-district triathlon on recruits
Eighth class: skiing - five kilometers, shooting and throwing grenades.
At fourteen zero zero, the bus departs from the military committee.
You are now Vova Sidorov of 1966.
of birth. Come with your skies and not be late.
No, for the KMS of biathlon skiing "five" and "bed" in the tires - that for the dive dust is only smaller. And there three more bullets were fired and allowed to shoot "from the belt". I fired eight shots and helped two neighbors to the right and left. No matter what, when more than five times in a paper dozen you hit not every ballistic will determine how many hit.
In general, after two stages, I am, and to be precise, unknown to me.
Sidorov, led with such a gap that for the first place he needed one counting attempt with a grenade.
Metal grenades at the school stadium. The uneven structure of the boys and me in the multi-haired sports costumes stood near the semi-broken wooden tribunes, on the slightly dried with snow field was distinguished by the red lines of the throwing sector, commissars and other military commanding officers, obviously not wasting time while we ran and shot, crowded near the judgment table. A little behind the sector, near the line indicating the regulation of the GTO, stood the Budunets praporski with red and white flags.
and Siddhartha! Distributed to the stadium.
and I! I lied to.
Start to throw grenades!
I approached the table and took the first grenade. She was cold and slippery.
I ran and stumbled. The grenade "hopped" out of her hand and joyfully flew to the side of the plumber. The builder melted his hands with flags and looked at the approaching object without breaking away.
“Sleep down, fool,” one of the officers said, “will kill you.
The Soviets did not surrender. Maybe they don’t lie down. The grenade fell in half a meter from the shoes of the praporcher and jumped away, surrounding him with ice splashes. The officer raised a red flag: the grenade went out of the sector.
- Not counted, - said the chief judge of the competition, with a voice
A second attempt, a second attempt, Siddhartha.
I took a second grenade.
- You understand, Sidov, we are not throwing here for precision, but for distance. No is
We need to target the builder. Just take away the chicken. I understood,
The son?
I understand, I am not a complete idiot. I did not aim at it at all, I accidentally succeeded. After leaving, I threw a second grenade. A dirty shit. The second one jumped too. Only this time the grenade flew carefully into the forehead of the flagmaker with the flags.
“Pizzetz,” I thought, and at any rate stuck, so as not to see the case.
Their own hands.
The judge’s voice came from behind.
“Hey,” he said a few seconds later, “you look at the vertically which, and the
You will not say.
I opened one eye: the man, already rising from the ground, walked with a red flag and threatened me with the fist of the other hand.
“Not counting,” said the chief judge of the competition, “third attempt. Listen to
combatant, - the judge moved to the father's tone of the father-commandor, speaking
We all know you’re shooting, but I’m shooting you.
I apologize to the developer. He has children.
The officers who stood behind him were friendly. What is funny about children? I thought and took a third grenade.
I ran as our bodybuilder taught at physical education lessons. I took a step forward, crossing my legs. I thought to myself how beautiful and far a grenade could fly “under forty-five degrees.” In my thoughts, I was already standing on the pedestal of honor, but I slipped a little and the grenade again went to the side of the striker.
This time he was smarter than he thought. Without waiting for my throw, he ran to the tribunes and lay under the bench. I did not get into him. I got into that same store.
A white flag finally appeared under the bench.
- I didn't understand - through the laughter of the officers came the bullshit voice of the chief.
Did the judge give up, or did the judge give up? The grenade did not get into the sector, I
I disregard.
The officer came out of the stand and showed a red flag. Our soldier approached the chief judge and whispered something to his ear.
“You hear Ivanych,” the judge replied loudly, “I will not give your champion.”
No fourth attempt. This is the fourth time that the sniper
The prosecutor will get, and secondly, not according to the rules.
Interestingly, more than me, or more precisely Sidorov, was not called to the competition for the military committee. It is sorry. I was a champion in throwing grenades at school. I was not lucky then, honestly.